As the product of a U.S. public high school education in geography coupled with a fear of atlases, I was astounded as I stood on the platform in between train cars with the sweet, warm Indian air blowing through my hair, rumpled t-shirt and requisite ankle-length skirt the few hours before we arrived in the small town of Narsapur, to see we were in marsh land—with one rice paddy field after another. It reminded me of pictures I had seen of Vietnam; I had no idea this sort of terrain existed in Southeast India.
Narsapur, as I soon learned, is located on the West bank of the Vasista Godavari River, which flows into the Bay of Bengal and which, with the surrounding land, forms the tail end delta area and has been famous for lace making for more than 100 years.
When I arrived at the The Godavari Delta Women Lace Artisan Cooperative in Narsapur, I was given a queen’s welcome by the women artisans there who decorated me with a beautiful lei and privileged me with a standing ovation Indian-style: hands clasped in prayer form and smiles the size of the Grand Canyon. Coming from New York where uttering ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ has become a lost art-form (even though New Yorkers have BIG HEARTS!), I almost fainted.
During my three days there, I had the honor of visiting with many women artisans, both in the cooperative’s main office in Narsapur and in the outlying rural areas, where I found the women sitting cross-legged sewing their pieces on the exquisitely clean dirt floors of their thatched-roof homes while roosters and cows milled about outside--living much the way their ancestors had a century before.
Watching these women create small masterpieces before my eyes; delicate lace tablecloths, bedspreads, napkins, placemats --with no formal training, not to mention no formal education--I was humbled. And how they ended up working for the cooperative is amazing in light of the exploitation that the older artisans and the woman before them endured for more than half of the last century, before the cooperative was founded, at the hands of the “middlemen” exporters who grossly underpaid the artisans.
But in the mid 1970’s one lace maker, the late Mrs. K. Hemalatha, with the resolve of a lioness protecting her young, set out on a two year pilgrimage by foot visiting struggling women lace artisans in over thirty villages in the surrounding countryside and explained the benefits of forming a cooperative. The women listened, and ultimately helped Mrs. K. Hemalatha fight the up-hill battle to convince the Indian government to allow them to form a cooperative, resorting once to a hunger strike for their cause. The obstacles they faced along the way were formidable because not only were the women combating the powerful middlemen who already exerted considerable influence in the export-business, but they were up against a world where sexism reigned.
"Being women folk we are looked down in the society as sub-human beings,” Mrs. K. Hemalatha wrote in her cooperative mandate. “There are certain taboos and customs which are hindering the growth of the women. Generally a male is treated as superior to a female.”
But with iron-steel determination, Mrs.K. Hemalatha saw her dream become a reality in 1979 when she was granted permission by the Indian government to officially register and head the The Godavari Women’s Lace Cooperative, which has evolved into a 500 member-plus group today.
The first thing Mrs. K. Hemalatha did when she formed the cooperative was to increase the wages of lace workers and to ensure that the cooperative guaranteed work all year round, not just on a need-basis as was the case with the middlemen. This way, the women artisans could rely on a minimum income all year, and still can; no small miracle anywhere in the world and particularly in a country as financially challenged as India. Another thing Mrs. K.Hemalatha implemented was providing eye care, including examinations and glasses for the artisans who often strained their eyes sewing. Mrs. K. Hemalatha’s ultimate goal was to provide full health care benefits, but to date, the cooperative has not had enough consistent orders to pay for this objective.
Mrs. K.Hemalatha also taught the women how to open bank accounts and the concept of saving money. In addition, she offered moral support, says her daughter, Mrs. K Satyasri.
“Some of these families had problems and my mother helped them–not just economically but other problems they brought to her. That became a source of strength for them…she really looked after the welfare of the women,” says Mrs. Satyasri, who took charge of the cooperative with the help of her husband in the mid-1980’s when her mother, a widow by then, fell ill.
Mrs. Satyasri carries the spirit of her mother performing such special rituals as giving gifts to her cooperative members on holidays and holding special ceremonies celebrating important events like providing new eyeglasses to them. Looking at the pictures of these women gratefully—and gleefully—receiving their new eyewear; I thought about the last time I rejoiced after purchasing a new pair of eyeglasses.
Mrs. Satyasri and her husband also offer progressive and much needed educational programs such as free health training seminars on AIDS/HIV, a disease that continues to plague India and yet which is still considered a “taboo” subject to discuss openly by many in Indian society.
After my three days in Narsapur came to a close and I boarded the train back to the city of Hyderabad, I was accompanied by the whole Satyasri family including their two children and their family friend, Mr.Elenezer C. Chaise, who was my gracious interpreter. They all waited with me in the empty seats in my sleeper cabin for the 25 minutes until my train departed. At 30 years old, I couldn’t remember the last time that someone dropped me off at the train or plane station much less waited until I left!
As the train slowly pulled away and the smiling faces of the Satyasri family disappeared into the night along with the myriad rice paddy fields I passed, I realized that no amount of geography lessons could have replaced the new way I was learning to navigate my course.
-Siobhan
PHOTOS: Above: Author with "Bahula," the oldest member of the cooperative. Below, l-r:Mrs. Satyasri and "Bahula" ;Mrs. Satyasri putting a new pair of glasses on one of the women in the cooperative; K.Hemalatha putting a new pair of glasses on one of the women in the cooperative; The next two photos: "Bahula" and two of her friends saying "good bye" to the author ; Following two photos: Two members of the cooperative creating their small masterpieces.
